


Falling Slowly

by Eanna23je



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fear of Flying, Fluff and Humor, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter Friendship, Hermione Granger Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Hurt/Comfort, James Potter Lives, Multi, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past James Potter/Lily Evans Potter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:26:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eanna23je/pseuds/Eanna23je
Summary: Hermione wasn't supposed to fall in love again, not after Ron gave his life to save hers. She hasn't been able to fly since that horrible night, either. Now she doesn't have a choice. Fly and re-enter the magical world again, or give it all up. Good thing her best friend happens to know a brilliant flight instructor. Now if only she could stop staring at his arse.





	1. The Flight Conundrum

**Author's Note:**

> What if Lily still had sacrificed herself that night in Godric's Hollow, but James survived to raise Harry? Three years after the war, Harry has defeated Voldemort, but he and Hermione still carry the scars from the war. While Harry managed to move on with his life and now plays professional Quidditch, Hermione hasn't fared so well. Now she's determined to stop hiding and rejoin Wizarding society again. All she has to do is pass a flight test and she'll be able to begin work with the Ministry. Unfortunately, she hasn't been on a broom since the night Ron died...

Rain made the ground slick beneath her feet, cold and icy over numb hands as she closed her fingers over the wet broomstick. She closed her eyes and focused on her magical core, on the surge of warmth and scent of cinnamon sparking through every nerve ending. Only then did she slowly begin to push that magic into the broom.

_You're in control._

The broom lifted her body weight until the tips of her toes barely touched to solid ground. Hermione took another deep breath.

_You won't fall. Not this time._

Her toes left the ground and the rain seemed to fall harder, sharper. Breath escaped her mouth in heavy puffs.

_It's fine. You're still in control._

She slowly opened her eyes.

Instead of the soft emerald green of her yard, Hermione saw flashes of magic sprayed in harsh multi-coloured lights. Screams and shouts filtered past her ears and Ron's grip tightened on her waist.

" _Hermione! Go! Go!"_

The broom jerked too hard up as her magic spun out of control and Hermione screamed her panic. She lost her grip and fell to the earth.

"Shit!"

Pain shocked its way through her shoulder and hip.

Her pride was bruised far worse.

She clutched her chest as she bit hard on her lip to stifle her sobs and attempted, once again, to purge her failures.

"It wasn't your fault, you couldn't have known. It wasn't your fault…" she repeated the words that had become her mantra over the past three years. Her Muggle therapist had said as much when she explained who she lost due to her "car wreck."

Hermione groaned as she rolled onto her back and blinked dully at the passing clouds. The rain was slowly easing up at least. Her clothes were absolutely soaked. She didn't even want to think about the state of her hair on top of her fresh aches and pains.

Three years later and she still couldn't mount a broom properly.

Two more weeks and there wouldn't be any more time left to re-learn before the test.

_It shouldn't matter whether or not I can fly. Why fly when I can Apparate?_

Hermione covered her face with her hands and rubbed the layer of tears, mud, and rain away.

One last chance to pass the test and her chance at a job with the Department might as well be null and void.

A repetitive ringing echoed from inside her house. Hermione sighed as she climbed to her feet. She cast an accusatory glare at the now lifeless broom in her hand as she headed inside.

She was dripping all over the living room carpet, but she at least managed to reach the phone before the last ring.

"Hello?" She cursed how weak her voice sounded, cleared her throat and added, "Granger residence, this is Hermione speaking."

"Hermione? I almost didn't recognize your voice. Are you all right?" Her best friend's voice struggled over the chaos of the Quidditch arena.

Hermione bit her lip with relief and shame as she sank onto her couch. "Hi, Harry."

Harry hesitated, grumbled aside, "—gimme a bloody minute, then I'll answer their questions."

She couldn't help her smile as Harry brushed off his manager. "You can call me later if it's a bad time," she offered.

Harry seemed to have moved a bit, or cast a _Muffliato_ charm to smother the distant roar of fans. "Sorry about that. It's been bloody crazy lately. I've actually been trying to find a moment to call you for days," he grumbled.

Hermione's smile stretched across her face and she almost forgot the twinge in her shoulder, the ache in her hip. For the past three years, Hermione had insisted Harry contact her by telephone, as it was easier to avoid tipping the magical world of their location that way. For a moment, Hermione chastised herself over their lingering paranoia. She felt ever-so-much older than _technically_ twenty-two.

"It's fine," she finally replied. "I know how the season goes. I just wish I could be there."

"Me too…" Harry's ire was traded for something warmer, softer, something reserved for just them.

" _It's just us now, Mione. No matter what, you'll always have a home with me,"_ he had said.

"So, have you made any progress yet?" Harry-in-the-present interrupted. "Your last message claimed you were on the verge of a breakthrough."

Hermione sighed at the laughter in her friend's voice.

At her lengthy pause, where she just _knew_ he was running an awkward hand through his windswept hair, Harry added, "That bad?"

Hermione fell back into the cushions and wrapped the curling cord around her wrist in the process. "Not even above a bloody meter."

Harry chuffed at her language. At Hogwarts, Hermione had always been careful to _never_ use such base language. Perhaps because Harry and Ron had used crude language too much. Someone had to balance and refine them, after all.

Things had changed after Ron…

"—Mione? You still there?"

"Hmm?" She shook her head. "Sorry, Harry, feeling a bit knackered today." She tugged at the phone cord to punctuate her lie. It fell so easily from her lips, she hoped Harry wouldn't see through her again. It was easier when they weren't face-to-face.

Harry sighed, pulling away to growl, "You can wait another bloody minute Colin. It's _Hermione_."

Her blue mood nearly evaporated at her best mate's declaration. She could always count on Harry to choose her. It was part of the pact they'd made as children. No matter what they would look after one another.

"Sorry about that. You know how Creevy gets. Thinks he can bloody boss me around just because I pay him to."

"At least you're both living your dreams, Harry. You shouldn't be too hard on him. He's still a friend." She held up her filthy hand and wrinkled her nose. This would require much more than a simple _Scourgify_.

"Yeah… suppose you're right. Seriously though, Mione, are you all right? You sounded out of breath when you answered. Don't like you practicing without me."

Hermione nodded and cleared her throat when she remembered he couldn't see then said, "I'm fine. I just…" Her breath hitched and her tongue caught over the words she wanted to but couldn't say.

_I can't fly. I'm going to fail the test and be stuck taking notes at a desk for the rest of my life. Which is great, because I'm a Witch and will, therefore, live past a hundred…taking notes._

"Hermione," Harry spoke her name firmly yet gently as if he knew exactly where thoughts were teetering. "It's okay to need help. In fact—I _may_ have asked for someone to help you out, at least until I can get back next week."

"What?" She sat up, every muscle tense and her voice more cutting than she intended. "Harry, please tell me you didn't hire anyone from the Ministry. If word of this gets out before my test…" Her breath came in shorter, sharper spurts and her hand found its way to the scar at her side. A deeper, older pain flared.

"Well, not exactly," Harry was quick to protest. "Look, it'll be fine, yeah? He is literally the best flyer I know and when I brought up the idea he understood. He won't tell anyone, I solemnly swear."

Hermione's laugh was too shrill even to her ears. "Right, no Marauder's oaths, please. I'm trying to take you seriously and you aren't helping. Harry James Potter, you _swore_ to me already you wouldn't tell anyone about this, on pain of hex, and you _know_ the one I'm talking about."

Harry sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry I'm breaking my promise, but Hermione, you told me yourself you need help. If I can't be there, I need to know you'll have someone looking after you. Be mad at me if you want, just… look for his owl tonight, yeah?"

"What? No! Harry, we said no owls," she hissed.

Harry's sudden laughter grated her already frayed nerves. "If anyone could trace his owl, they should be named Minister of Magic. Trust me when I say we've got you covered, okay?"

Hermione pressed a hand to the place between her eyes and replied. "Fine. Are you at least going to tell me what to expect? Who is it, a flight coach from your team?"

The roar of the crowd was suddenly back, along with Creevey's reedy voice in the background. Harry's reply came suspiciously quick and rushed. "Sorry, Mione, gotta run. I'll owl you later. Love you, bye!"

"Harry, don't you dare..." The call ended abruptly and Hermione shoved the phone back into the receiver with a spark of magic.

"Boody Quidditch," she grumbled as she managed to stand and make her way to the bathroom.

Two hours and a good soak later, Hermione felt much more human and less angry over Harry's little arrangement. She should have expected something like this sooner, she realized, after wrapping up her hair and heading to the kitchen for food.

_He is a second-generation Marauder,_ she reasoned. Hadn't Harry done everything in his power while they were Hogwarts to resurrect the memory of his father and uncles' glory days? He had constantly been dragging her and Ron from one scheme into another. It was a wonder they passed their OWLS.

_Even greater miracle we survived._

Each school term had seemed to end with one ridiculous challenge or another, be it facing a cerberus, acromantula, centaurs, not to mention the slew of dark wizards that suddenly popped up Fourth Year. Harry, of course, attracted the bastards like honey to flies and seemed to think it was their duty to protect the Wizarding world. Having been raised by living legends, Hermione could easily understand why.

_Doesn't mean I've completely forgiven him, though,_ she thought the same moment her familiar hopped onto the kitchen counter.

"Crookshanks! No, off, you naughty thing! I'll have your supper ready in a second."

Her pet kneazle released a petulant "meow," turning up his nose in disgust before hopping back off the counter.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him as she shifted over to begin preparing his meal first. "Some gentleman _you_ are, not letting a lady eat first."

Crooks meowed again and rubbed against her legs.

For one peaceful, too-quiet moment, there was only the sounds of Crooks purring, the crickets chirping outside her country cottage, and the incessant pecking of an owl at her window.

_Wait, what?_

Hermione nearly spilled Crookshanks' meal on his head as she jerked towards the sound. It had been so long since she heard an owl, Hermione stared for a long moment at the black feathered creature tapping her kitchen window. After another beat and annoyed meow from Crookshanks, Hermione set the dish before her kneazle and crossed the room.

She opened her window and the owl wasted no time fluttering in. Hermione bit her lip as it settled on her counter, a letter held up by its left foot.

"Um, t-thank you," she stammered as she took the folded parchment.

The bird's golden eyes seemed to glare at her reproachfully as Hermione waited for it to fly away.

"Oh! Sorry," she blurted. She didn't keep owl treats in her home anymore since Harry lost Hedwig. Setting the letter aside, Hermione dug through her fridge until she came up with a bag of baby carrots. Holding the bag up over her shoulder she asked, "This do?"

The owl ruffled its feathers as it continued to groom its wings.

"Right…" She pulled three carrots from the bag and set them on the counter beside the owl. "Here you go."

The owl bent over to inspect the carrots while Hermione returned to her forgotten mail. Upon opening, she found a message scrawled in a sharp, but fine hand, stating:

_Hermione,_

_Our mutual acquaintance has, by way of blackmail and nefarious coercion, enlisted my services as your personal flight instructor. Since I'm not in the habit of leaving distressed damsels unaided, I'd be honored to help you prepare for your test._

_I have also been informed that should word of this arrangement reach the wrong ears, our acquaintance will suffer by way of a most heinous hex. I solemnly swear, I am quite skilled in keeping secrets and subterfuge. Thus, if you are agreeable, kindly send your reply with the owl and meet me at nine o'clock Thursday in Godric's Hollow._

_Sincerely yours,_

_J.M. Potter_

"Oh gods, he didn't…" Hermione's fingers wrinkled the parchment before she could control her reflex. "It's official, I am going to kill Harry Potter," she told Crookshanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review: If you fancy :)
> 
> A/N : Welcome to a new Jamione fic! I recently started this lighter, adult-centric story while working through my heavier fic, A Darkly Slanted Mirror, over at FF.net. I recently received a review asking me to cross-post this at AO3, so here it is in it's shiny new glory. The idea for Falling Slowly was in part inspired by the James that lives on in my ADSM head-cannon, and another "what-if?" Instead of time traveling shenanigans, we're posed with a post-war present where James survived both wars. How would things be different?
> 
> I'm not sure how long this will end up being, but I hope you'll join me as we explore a more adult Jamione fic. Next chapter we'll finally get to meet James :D


	2. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is convinced she's bound to fail her flight test. Much to her horror, her best mate has found a solution in the perfect flight instructor: his father. Trouble is, Hermione has avoided nearly all society since the war ended three years before. She is determined to ignore Harry's arrangement. Little does she know how determined James Potter can be.

_Dear Mister Potter,_

_While I appreciate the trouble and don't doubt the methods of coercion our mutual acquaintance used to procure your services, this damsel is in no need of saving, thank you. You may feel free to send Harry to me, should assurances be needed he will not retaliate for breaking your word. I can assure you I am properly mortified our acquaintance brought this matter to your attention, as I am quite adept at solving my own problems. Apologies for taking so much of your time._

_Thank you and good evening,_

_H.J. Granger_

* * *

Hermione was just stepping into her favorite pyjama pants, the ones with the charmed spinning time turners, when she was accosted by an insistent tapping at her bedroom window. 

With a shout, she tripped over her feet and landed on her already sore bum. 

“Bollox!” she cursed, something she had once been so adamantly against, as she reached unconsciously for her wand. 

_Where is it!_

She’d taken off her holster after rechecking the wards as she did each evening.

_Oh just brilliant, Hermione!_

Her burgeoning panic subsided, however, as another round of tapping at the window and second glance revealed the identity of her intruder.

Any relief she might have felt was quickly replaced with ire.

It was _his_ owl again. 

Hadn’t her reply been clear enough?

Hermione righted herself with a barely suppressed groan before reaching the window latch. After a moment of wandless magic, she opened the window to allow Mr. Potter’s owl inside. 

She unfolded his letter and began to read: 

_Hermione,_

_Please call me James. I reserve the right of first names for my friends and Mr. Potter for the Ministry._

_Although I don’t doubt your sincerity, I assure you it’s no trouble. I confess I have heard so much of you from all three of our mutual acquaintances, I looked forward to knowing more of the Brightest Witch of our Age._

_While you insist on fighting your own battles, of which I know you’re fully capable, I’m afraid I’m unable to go back on my oath. All shall be explained in full should you meet me tomorrow at nine o’clock._

_I’ll be waiting either way, Miss Granger._

_Sincerely yours,_

_James Potter_

Hermione hissed through her teeth and tossed the letter aside. She had no intention of satisfying anyone’s curiosity or Harry’s whims. 

“You can go back to your master. No reply, thank you _very much_ ,” she said before waving the owl back through the window with an indignant huff. 

She turned off the bedroom light and curled beneath her covers, wand safely tucked beneath her pillow. Only then did she feel secure enough in her decision. Why would she agree to flying lessons, let alone meet such an infamous figure in public? It was madness, that’s what. 

_Leave it to a Marauder,_ was her last thought before sleep claimed her. 

* * *

At precisely a quarter until nine o’clock, the following morning, Hermione Granger Apparated just off Church Lane in Godric’s Hollow. 

Upon waking, she had re-read Mr. Potter’s letters. Perhaps it was her own curiosity or desperation, or perhaps it was his subtly worded challenge to meet him today that pushed her beyond the safety of her own wards and into the world. 

_Come on, you can do this. It’s fine. You need to be in public for this job after all._

With her wand in one hand, her small beaded bag in the other, Hermione glanced about the Apparition point and checked to see if her _notice-me-not_ charm was still in place. Once she was convinced she hadn’t drawn any unwanted attention, Hermione swiftly entered the nearest alley off Church Lane and promptly fell to pieces.

The village was the same and yet nothing like the last time she had visited with Harry during the war. While the Order had continued to hunt down Horcruxes, the two of them had come to Godric’s Hollow seeking hints and clues to the Deathly Hallows. Instead, they walked right into a trap. It took all Hermione had not to look in the direction she knew Bathilda Bagshot’s former residence stood.

She blinked and she was _there_ , dodging Nagini’s fangs, falling through the window, Harry calling her name...

Hermione leaned her back against a building wall and, eyes still vigilant on the street and focused on breathing slowly. 

_You’re not there. It’s been three years. We’re fine._

“Wonderful, we’re speaking in the third person now…” she muttered.

“Always helped me in the past,” came a deep and husky voice. 

Hermione had her wand pressed to the intruder’s throat within seconds. 

Her magic rushed through her veins and crackled in the air between her and the wizard facing her.

“Sorry,” he said, throat bobbing beneath the tip of her wand, “thought you heard me coming.” To her astonishment, his lips pulled back into a lop-sided smile. 

“What?” she blurted, somewhat confounded by that smile, and the green-gold eyes practically bursting with mischief behind his spectacles.

“I did call your name once or twice,” the man replied with a shrug, not lowering his hands from the air. 

Hermione took in everything about the man, from his well-tailored albeit slightly mussed Ministry-issue robes to the way his smile didn’t hide the tension in his hazel eyes. He looked to be in his early thirties, despite the fact that a good day’s worth of stubble covered a deeply sun-weathered face. Judging by the way his black hair stuck up as though he spent all his time flying, a clear idea of just who had come upon her accompanied increasing guilt. 

“Well…” she cleared her throat, “I _didn’t_ hear you.” 

His smile faded as something like concern flashed through his bespectacled gaze, near instantly softening the underlying tension in his shoulders. “Sorry, I thought you remembered me. Christmas, last year, wasn’t it? Though there wasn’t much time for conversation as I recall.” 

Hermione shifted on the balls of her feet but she managed to slowly lower her wand and take a careful step back. “Two years,” she whispered. She did remember, as it happened. Because while Harry had been forced to break into her home this past year, she _had_ allowed him to drag her to Godric’s Hollow the year before. She hadn’t stayed past the pudding.

James Potter ran a sheepish hand through his messy hair in a gesture eerily similar to his son. “Oh, yeah? Sorry, memory’s not what it was.” He lifted his chin, solemnly adding, “Old age, I’m afraid.”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and scoffed. “Unlikely.” 

Mr. Potter straightened and arched an eyebrow. 

Hermione blushed. “I’m sorry, but how did you find me past my charms, sir?”

“Sir?” His brow furrowed but this didn’t diminish the fact he was handsome. 

_Too handsome. Shit._

With a shake of her head, Hermione tried again. “Mr. Potter, shouldn’t we continue this conversation elsewhere?” She struggled not to stammer and blunder but _Sweet Circe_ this man was gorgeous. How did she not remember how fit Harry’s dad was? She forced her gaze from his slightly parted robes and back to his face.

_Eyes up top, Granger._

“Oh, I’m Mr. Potter again?” James Potter’s expression shifted into something akin to horror. “Before you say another word, I absolutely insist you call me James from this moment on.”

Hermione’s fingers flexed on her wand and then she slipped it back into her wrist holster in a move not lost on the legendary wizard before her. “Very well…”

James leaned forward. “Very well?” 

It was a supreme effort not to roll her eyes as she replied, “Very well, _James_.”

“Very well, _Hermione_ ,” he echoed with a smirk and clasped his hands together in a sudden move that startled her. “Now _that’s_ settled, are you ready for your first lesson?”

“Yes—” she replied and James turned back to the open end of the alley, ready to move until her words called him back. “I suppose I should thank you first.”

“Thank me?” He stared at her, incredulous. “You shouldn’t thank me yet, Hermione. In fact, if all goes well, you should be inclined to hex me before we’re through.” 

_What?_

His wink sent a jolt of something hot and painful through her nerves. 

_Oh gods, if he did that with a wink…_

_Nonsense,_ another voice in her head answered, _we just won’t let him get too close._

Hermione’s lips thinned, at the fact she now had two voices arguing in her head. Choosing to ignore them both, she followed James Potter out of her hiding place and back onto Church Street. His magic seemed to bounce about him energetically as he moved. She could have followed his magical signature three meters away.

_Just like Harry._

Ignoring the odd shiver lacing down her spine, Hermione stepped onto the cobblestone street. James presented an arm to her expectantly. 

Hermione hesitated, instantly on alert despite her attempts to talk herself down. She wasn’t used to being around people anymore, she could admit this to herself. And while Harry was the exception of people she tolerated, James Potter was not his son. 

He turned to look at her, raising a challenging eyebrow until Hermione pushed her irrational fears aside and accepted his arm, only to scream as he Apparated them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review: If you're excited to see how the first lesson goes ;)
> 
> A/N : Apologies for the delay. While I'd like to update this one more regularly, it's a bit of a side project for me while I attempt to finish my other fics. Have no fear, however! I promise not to abandon this lighter Jamione fare, and hope all of you who patiently waited are pleased with the first meeting! Happy reading friends :)


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